#azriah

[ultema]

An Elder Scrolls Online commission of @azriah ‘s Telvanni Sorceress, Sovaliah.

Dunmer have such fun features, and I reaaaallly love working with red hair and atmospheric lights. 8D

[thanidiel]

Look Around

She has not spoken a word to Bricini.

Not since she vacated the field with the remnants of Goldenshade doubled on the horses of Crows and Fury Company. They had rode into the campground of what was once a symbiosis of armies, gathering what was quickly transportable: the medical personnel, the sacks of hard-rations prepared weeks ago in Autumnvale, the reserve horses.

The Honourguard were all in the ground like Emberheart.

The Crows didn’t ask questions.

Bricini, as the only member of Fury Company (as barely official as her presence was) with enough courage to approach the Phoenix Guard in the midst of her storm of action, questioned:

“What happened?”

Thanidiel had used this moment to drum up what was left of her thunder, and the last of her words. She did not look at the other, then; a primordial terror nestled in her breast that sensed that she would not see black hair and dark skin, but instead, red, that would awash into blood and more blood.

“The stars burned out. Didn’t you see?”

After that, she concluded the matter to be finished. And she has not spoken a word to Bricini. Such a thing is too much. The conventions and necessities of the World around her; a gong drumming in a room with too much echo.

There’s enough in her ears and in her head.

The other will understand, or tolerate.

She had performed what duties she could. Taken care of every man and woman that she could (less than two-fucking-hundred out of a host that numbered two-thousand). Written the reports. Sent the rider. Accepted the Crows to her fire. The Goldenshades would stay with her to be united with Thelryn later (there would be no logic in slaying the Grand Arcanist).

Now.. she was here. At home. Or what was once their home? Or… perhaps, their home once again, with Autumnvale’s occupation. Would this one be temporary as well? Where would they go after that? Where would the other abide?

...questions for another time, perhaps.

For now, Thanidiel is unabashedly a ghost.

She has always been a ghost.

Sometimes, there was moments of light that brought her closer to world; more corporal.

The halo of snow that once bracketed Bricini and all of her laughter.

The orange of sunset blanketing Ithanar and her, when their backs lay on the forest floor.

The light that seeped in through the ruined tower as she and Elleynah broke bread.

The sun bearing down on her at the edges of the Fel-and-Light-scarred pavillion.

The glow of arcane lights in the sprawling darkness of the garden she and Renalays once tread within.

The dawns she once-experienced with her, in the mountains Southernmost.

The gold of a Wheel; in the moments between waking and not-waking.

Other times, she grew less present in this world, with every death of the light.

The dusk that fell upon their heads after Arthas cleaved through Quel’Thalas, the city; dying.

The shadow of Varric encompassing her, blocking out the sun of Hellfire; dying.

The ebb of flames that devoured Stratholme, pushing the city into true dormancy; dying.

The black of the ink painting the once-bright parchment, signing off Venelas; dying.

The gloom that replaced the day, weighed onto her shoulders, with every step she took below the Hall of Blood, another assignment awaiting her in chains; dying.

The darkness that consumed the forest, as she had called out to her; dying.

The swathing twilight that overcame Fury Company last night as they fled, the stars; dead.

For now, she was something only half-corporal. Visible, but transparent to the touch. Or, wishing to be transparent.

They had been at home for a while now. Dawn had breached. Neither had slept. They had unpacked. They had bathed. They had eaten. They had retired, or made a show of it. This time, incongruent with usual night rituals, Thanidiel had not made the motion to drive apart the other’s knees, nor pull her close (or allow herself the other’s embrace). The only signifier made of their bond distinguishes itself in the soldier’s insistent curl of her hand around the other’s adjacent one.

A huff pushes into the air. Not from her. The other.

“Ready to share what happened?”

She doesn’t want to answer. So she is silent. For the time-being. A minute ticks by, and the Dawnmender can be seen grimacing in the dark as she twists away, moves to pull her hand out of the fighter’s.

Her grip tightens. Stop.

“I told you what happened.”

“You said the stars burned out. That makes little-to-no-fucking sense.”

“They did.”

“So, what, night fell? Why is that so significant? How did you lose?”

“Because they died.”

“These stars?”

“Aye.”

"Stars don't just die, and if they do, they become black holes. If this is literal, you're crazy; if this is an analogy, it might be fitting. And we both already knew you’re crazy."

“Mhm.”

“These stars were that important?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t win any of this by myself. You told me that. I’m just listening.”

@jessipalooza @retributionpriest @thepilgrimofwar @thesunguardmg

[felthier]

🌈 🌈 🌈 three for ya wife

🌈 I have never found a person so willing to be so invested in the things that we share together. Not only do you support my hobbies you are my hobby. You inspire me to push forward, to write more, to be creative, to follow my dreams. No other person in my life has ever been like that.

🌈 I can’t wait for us to make a home together. We’re slowly building our nest after putting off being adults for so long, and while at times it’s scary to realize that we’re growing older, I only get more excited to see what kind of people we’ll become together.

🌈 dat butt hot

[pydoodles]

“I will squash you like the worm you are.”

I believe that’s what she’d probably be saying in this pic. This is an art trade with @azriah of her demon hunter Kaltaia. 

What a babe.

(Note: I had to repost this again because of tumblr’s stupid thing)

my patreon - my twitter - my ko-fi - my artstation - my picarto

[shungieshrieks]

Aaaand finally, 1st place prize for my recent 600 follower giveaway goes to @azriah! Thanks for the support!

[ryther-writes]

Knowledge Beckons

Grand Arcanist,

I hope this letter has found its way to you with little issue. I am contacting you because I have had something on my mind for a well as well as a general curiosity about a few different noble families within Quel’thalas. I know I come to you having never spoken to you before, and I was hesitant for a long while to ask. But since becoming a more permanent member of the Sunguard, I thought it fit to ask for your assistance in this matter.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours truly,

Emberward Kyranyx Ryther

[shadowrabbits]

Commission for the always lovely @azriah !

Commission Info, queue and ko-fi | Twitter : aelphie

[izulde]

Letters

The letter had arrived by courier, which by all accounts may as well herald the heavy words within. It was much alike when they had first met, how their words were formal, terse, yet yearning. Then he wrote with an eager pen, putting to paper words he had experienced for the first time. When she was mysterious, dangerous, and when by all accounts he was content as a paramour. But that was many years ago, different letters and a different author.

“My lord,” began the servant, a woman of fine breeding, who by all accounts would have been a handmaiden for his betrothed should she have resided with him in the Netherholde. Now she was a woman, dedicated to a foreign mistress whom she had never met. “Would you wish me to read you the letter?”

Izulde had half a heart to deny her, to leave the letter on the table, or if he was in a greater penchant of melancholy to toss it into the flames. They were connected, Azriah and he, by a link more significant than anyone could ever know. Yet in their absence, there was not even a single pull at the tether. He had wished her to come after him, yet that was not her way. Her way began with formality. “Dearest Lord Izulde Netherstar,” began the servant, speaking for his beloved, which sounded more strange than his heart could bare.

As she continued, to read the letter aloud, Izulde sank deeper into his leather chair. His thoughts had begun to drown out her words. He yearned to analyze, to put away feelings and weigh considerations. Yet there was something deeper within him that subdued reason and gave heart to emotion. The feeling was not that of love, for he knew well enough the sharp and bitter twang of Azriah’s love, but something else. He heard the words read aloud, knowing deep down there was part of him missing, that was so close he could reach it.

“If you do not attend me, I will assume you have settled in your decision … and we will part ways … though it pains me to face that reality.” There was a pause, a hanging moment in the air as the servant wishes for her lord’s response. “My Lord, shall I prepare your departure to Dalaran?” The pause continued and the silence hung like the heavy mist of the Emberlight. A silence too dark for someone to see.

“My lord, what will you respond? My lord?”

@azriah